Page 269 of Satan's Spawn
There’s that tone of voice again.
The “I have news but you’re gonna hate it” tone of voice.
I almost want to ignore him in hopes he’ll go away and keep whatever the fuck he has to tell us to himself.
Because I know whatever it is has to do with me, and it’ll end up hurting.
It always does in Riverside.
Archer resorts to kicking the door. “I know you assholes are in there. Open the damn door.”
Crayton grumbles some curse words, then says, “You can either tell him to fuck off nicely, or I do it my way.”
The sound of keys jingling and the lock twisting has me burying my face in Crayton’s chest.
“Fuck me.” The words are muffled, but gets the point across.
I can hear Saint asking what the hell is Archer’s problem as he opens the door, letting my very irate friend dart inside. Saint follows after him, red-eyed and helping himself to a slice of pizza.
“Seriously you dicks?” Archer doubles over out of breath.
I climb off Crayton to sit at the edge of the bed, and Crayton does the same on the opposite side.
“What’s with the dramatics, Beaumont?” he asks not so politely, reaching for his cigarettes.
“What’s with the dramatics, Beaumont?”Archer mocks him like a child, stomping over to Saint’s bed so he can face Crayton.
“I overheard my grandfather talking on the phone to someone. Not sure who it was.”
I stand and make my way to Crayton’s side. “Okay. So?”
“It was bits and pieces but I got the jist.” He runs a hand down his face, then shakes his head in disbelief. “Fucking fuck!”
“Spit the shit out, Beaumont,” Saint demands over at his desk through a mouthful of pizza. Which I no longer have an appetite for. “You’re fucking up my high, man.”
“Your high is the least of our problems,man,” Archer shoots back, more ballsy than usual.
Like me, Crayton notices, and it puts him on guard immediately.
Saint licks his fingers. “Well fuck you then.”
Balancing a cigarette between his teeth, Crayton says, “Who the fuck died?”
It was a sarcastic comment.
But even sarcastic comments have a little truth to them.
This one isn’t any less accurate.
“Funny that you ask, Shaw, because it’s Felix Fucking Crimson.”
Air freezes in my lungs, and my hands fist the sheets, trying to stop my heart from racing. “Dead?” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“Not only dead, Bex. The piece of crap was fucking murdered.”
44
CRAYTON
